


Rabid Young Boys

by The_Anglophile



Series: All Beatles Fic by The_Anglophile [5]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-22
Updated: 2005-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Anglophile/pseuds/The_Anglophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ringo feels he knows George quite well.  And George, likewise, is confident in his understanding of his older friend.  But do either of them actually know what goes on in the other's mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabid Young Boys

New York City! It was hectic, but it was the place to be! Paul was sure of that. It was absolutely scintillating! They had arrived on the 7th, greeted by screaming, fainting mobs of hormonal teenage girls (and a few boys), wildly chanting their names. As they left the airport by limousine, the radio gave minute by minute reports of their where-abouts. The whole city seemed entirely focused on them, be it either love or hate that was directed at them, and the US turned out to hold much more in store for them than they had ever anticipated.

The radio, when it was not focused on them, had stations that played rock 24/7! No such thing in England, John thought, happily bopping his head to a tune playing in Macy's. The four had made a shopping trip to Macy's NY to check out American fashions and swipe a few souvenirs for themselves.

A story had been fed to the press that they were to be visiting some discotheque or another in an entirely different part of town. This, Brian hoped, would keep the kids at bay for a while; at least long enough to give the Beatles time to shop. At the moment, Brian was occupied attempting to persuade the manager of Macy's to lock all doors leading outside for the duration of their visit. He didn't want his boys hounded.

George inhaled the smell of new clothing and smiled. He'd always enjoyed looking for new styles, particularly ones that would bother the "grown-ups". They were all so stuffy. He liked to mess with their Victorian sensibilities. He remembered fondly the "pink shirt" incident from school: He had come to class one fine morning dressed in a not-so-fine outfit. The teachers naturally had a fit at his bright pink shirt, ridiculously tight pants, and needle-sharp winkle pickers, but couldn't do anything about it because of the vagueness of the dress code. He had sauntered smugly about that day, the most fashionable kid in his school, and definitely the most bold. He'd long outgrown _that_ shirt. He decided to search for a new one.

Ringo glanced up at the high, sculptured panels of the ceiling as they walked into Macy's. The store was almost entirely devoid of humans and seemed cavernously large in its emptiness. He could practically hear his footsteps echoing. The only other people there besides themselves were a few employees and some adult customers; nothing to be alarmed at. No rabid young girls preparing to close in for the kill. No rabid young boys either. _Thank god_ , he thought; that always made him nervous, especially after the infamous concert in Paris. When they had finished the Parisian concert and were making their get-a-way, a big group of boys had chased after their car shouting his name.

Despite this, he couldn't help feeling flattered that just about _every_ young person, female _or_ male, whom he encountered reacted to him with a shriek of pleasure. It was certainly good for his ego to feel so attractive to so many people. He knew George felt the same way about it, as they had talked in length on the subject a few times. He could read it in George's posture on stage anyway. He always held his head higher and played his guitar faster and flashier when he was pleased with himself. He wiggled more too, which meant more cues for Ringo as to where they were in the song if he couldn't hear them playing for the screams.

Though George hadn't mentioned how he'd felt about the Parisian concert, judging by the usual George-body-language, he'd been flaunting himself like a peacock, in Ringo’s opinion. His back had been arched a little, his shoulders tense, his head was cocked to one side, looking directly at the audience as opposed to his guitar. He shook his hair more wildly than ever during the "Oooo"s, sang louder, added flourishes to his chords, and even favoured the boys with a dance when they shouted at him from the audience. _He was probably even smiling_ , Ringo thought; a sure sign that George was enjoying himself, since he rarely favoured the audience with so much as a smirk.

A brief thought fluttered through Ringo's mind, but quickly left the premises. It had visited him before but he'd always dismissed it. He knew George better than that.

He'd been ambling aimlessly through the racks of clothing, lost in thought, but decided he should look for something to buy before they ran out of time, which was liable to happen at any moment knowing the astonishing ability of the fans to locate them. He saw John and Paul comparing shirts a few sections away and decided to join them. Eppy always encouraged them to match when it came to professional outfits, but they enjoyed it anyway; it was "their" style.

"Hey, what do you think of this?" John asked Ringo as he approached them, holding up a sleek black roll neck.

"I like it." Ringo said honestly. "Let's all get one."

"We'll have to find George and persuade him as well...he's disappeared on us." Paul commented, already clutching his own roll neck.

"Hmm," said Ringo, "I'll go find him."

"You do that," John mumbled, putting on his glasses momentarily to inspect the price tag on his find.

Ringo first made his way to the shoe section, figuring that since George was always messing about with new shoes he'd probably be there. He was right. He knew George well after all.

"Hi," George said, glancing up briefly from his attempt to shove his foot into a very narrow suede boot. He wasn't having much success.

"Need help with that?" Ringo smirked, amused at George's persistence. "Why don't you just try a larger size?"

"They don't have my size, they're all out. I tried a larger one, but it was too loose. This one's not working either." He pulled the boot off his foot, stuffed it back in the box, and shrugged. "Oh," he said, "come with me, I want you to tell me what you think of this shirt. He held up a pink dress shirt on a hanger. Ringo knew about the "pink shirt" incident and grinned at George. "'Nother one o' those trouble-causing pink shirts, eh?"

"You bet!" George replied brightly and began walking in the direction of the dressing room.

Ringo followed him in and noticed that the place was eerily silent. A door separated the dressing rooms from the rest of the store, so not even faint murmuring from the people without could be heard in the secluded area.

"I'm back here." George called from the far end of the row of stalls. Ringo followed the sound of his voice and then waited patiently outside the door to his stall. He heard some rustling of clothing and within a few minutes George had opened the door, proudly sporting the pink shirt.

Ringo looked him over and gave an approving thumbs-up, but George grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the stall saying, "No, come have a proper look." The space was rather cramped and Ringo rolled his eyes at George's apparent vanity.

"Well?" George prompted, pivoting slowly, giving Ringo a full view of the shirt. Ringo took a bit longer pretending to study the shirt this time, hoping that it would appease George.

"Hmm," Ringo said as seriously as he could, "I still think it looks quite good on you." He then turned to leave the confined stall, but George accosted him with a hand on his chest. "What is it now?" Ringo asked, turning his head to look at George.

Then, quite alarmingly, George drew up very close, pressing his body against Ringo's, their faces nearly touching, with his eyes cast downward almost shyly. "Wouldn't you like a closer look?" He said quietly, briefly making eye-contact with Ringo, before turning his eyes downwards again. Ringo froze, all too aware of George's warm breath on his neck.

When Ringo didn't respond, George took one of his hands and pressed it softly against his bulging crotch. "Wouldn't you?" He repeated and leaned slowly forward for a kiss. Their lips brushed lightly together before Ringo wrenched himself away and leapt skittishly from the stall.

"No!" he said and then continued rather awkwardly, "Uhhhmm...uh, Paul and John have found some shirts for us I'll go get yours meet me out there!" With that he walked swiftly out of the dressing room.

George frowned after his departing back. _Well, I guess I misinterpreted our conversations about those French boys_ , he thought. _Pity_. He changed back into his own shirt, gathered his things and made for the door.

Ringo hurried back out to John and Paul, trying to stop his hands from shaking. _I guess I don't know George as well as I thought I did._

The four bought their selections, slipped some other items into their coats, and were off, Brian ushering them out like a mother goose. Ringo tried to hide his trepidation from the others, but as they walked out the door to the street he couldn't help thinking as he gazed at George's skinny derrière that he would definitely have to redefine "rabid young boys."

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> 2013: Another oldie of mine from 2005. Just archiving these ones.
> 
> Inspired by the delightful screenshot above.


End file.
